The Search for Stone: Memoirs of a Madman
by Shei B. Kroeker
Summary: The journal of party leader Ebon Ie dictating the events leading up to the demise of notorious outlaw, Stone. Based on a campaign I played 5 years ago.
1. Forward December 9, 1880

Journal of Ebon Ie

If found, please return to

-redacted-

Forward

December 9, 1880

It is a common thing for a man of stature to carry around written accounts of his exploits, especially one that has seen such things as I have. I do not pretend to have the penmanship of a writer, but the experiences I have in this queer world is enough to make most storytellers green with envy. Here, in the bindings of leather and snakeskin, I have collected all of my journal entries. They won't amount to much more than a penny dreadful, but what I have to say must be said before I die—if I die.

These entries are the accounts of my family, my posse, and the many acquaintances along the way that made it possible to find Stone. I learned many dark secrets about our world. I learned about the Manitou, the Maze, and the truth behind Ghost Rock all of this keeps taking me closer to learning the true identity of the Reckoners. I was a fool to take this mission, but I've come too far to give up now. With any luck, this journal will end up in the dime store. If I don't come back from the Edge, perhaps someone will be able to take my findings in these pages and finish the job.


	2. August 3, 1877

August 3, 1877:

Well, today's the day. My father, Victor Ie has decided to retire, and he is going to leave the care of the mine and management of the railroad to Ivor and me. I don't know if I'm excited or terrified; perhaps I'm a little of both. Momma is still mad at me for leaving Miss Janet in order to prepare for the transition, but I'm sure they'll both understand. This is a big opportunity to expand the ghost rock business outside of Arkansas. I don't have time for marriage. I know all Momma wants is grandchildren, but it's just not for me right now. Maybe Ivor will honor her wish actually, never mind. That boy lacks the discipline to understand how to properly treat a lady.

There's some kind of commotion outside. Dad is calling for me, so I suppose this entry will be cut short.

…it's been a little over eight hours since I wrote that passage. Only eight hours, but it feels like a million years. Everything is gone. The entire homestead has been razed to the ground…I just…

I don't know what happened. One minute everything was okay, and the next, some madman rampages though the ranch without reason. He burned down the barn and fields, waving his pistol around like it were all some sort of game. We all took up arms to face this stranger, but something made us freeze in our boots when he turned to look at us. He was grinning with delight, but his eyes belied a sinister monster of the likes I'd never seen…eyes of a dead man. How was that even possible?

In the end, he ignored us like we weren't worth the salt on a shot glass as he stalked the property like a wolf. That's when Dad and Ivor jumped out of the still-burning barn, hoping to take the trespasser by surprise, but it was quite the opposite. The man didn't even blink as his grin vanished from his face. He aimed that pistol at Ivor and…

Everything happened so fast. I heard the gun fire, but it was like nothing I ever heard before. Next thing I knew, my brother dropped to the ground. Momma says I screamed like the devil himself, but I couldn't tell ya if I did. Everything died today.


	3. August 4, 1877

August 4, 1887:

It is said that twins share a bond unbreakable by any force, and that when one is hurting, the other feels it. I don't usually subscribe to such tall-tales, but what else- why can't I- I don't kno- _GOD DAMMIT_!

We buried Ivor today. The emptiness tears at me, like a coyote gnawing at its trapped leg. I don't remember anything from the service other than the worried whispers from the friends, family, and townsfolk that attended. Some talked about how they never really noticed the identical appearance between my brother and me before now. Others spoke in hushed pity stating that I looked just as dead as the corpse in the casket. The worst one were those who didn't know the Ie boys were twins and looked upon me with terror thinking that perhaps Ivor's spirit had returned, confused by his death.

I don't really care, though. I have only one thing on my mind: why? Why did that stranger toy with us? Why did he single out Ivor, who had never really been off the homestead unless for schooling or for a market run? It didn't make sense, his death. The lawmen don't seem too keen finding the killer, but rather they make excuses as to why "t'weren't nothing they could do." Disgraceful. The sheriff and his men use to be better than that.

Despite my personal distractions, my attention was soon caught by the silhouette of a stranger standing by the gate of the cemetery. I carefully excused myself from Momma's side and approached him. I didn't recognize him from our little town, so I asked him what his business was as it was a private gathering. The stranger only stood there—or rather, he leaned on the post chewing on a wheat stalk. He didn't react to me, so I moved closer. I got one step forward before the man's head snapped up towards me. I nearly jumped out of my skin, not by the sudden movement, but by that unholy look in his eyes. It looked just like that of the varmint that shot Ivor!

As though he knew my thoughts, the stranger spoke to me: "No, I'm not him, Ebon Ie," he voice was a ghostly whisper on the wind…or perhaps I am simply losing my mind.

"I know you're confused, Ebon," the stranger said, speaking as though he'd known me for years, "and I also know you seek justice. The lawmen are refusing to hunt for Stone, and it's got you fired up hotter than a brandin' iron."

"Who is Stone?" I asked. If I hadn't been so empty, I might have laughed at that. "Stone"? Really? What the hell kind of name was that?

"He's the critter what killed your kin."

That got my full attention. "I don't suppose you know why he would do that?" I asked coldly.

The stranger grinned in an unearthly manner. "If you really wanna know, hombre," he said as he spat the wheat stalk out, "come back here before dawn. Oh, and bring a shovel…you're gonna need it."

He walked away without sayin' anything else. Crazy old codger. I feel like a fool for having stood around long enough to listen to his ramblings. Still, when I turned back to make certain he was leaving, he was no longer there. My eyes must have been playing tricks on me—there's no way an ordinary man can vanish that quickly.

Mother was a bit concerned, but I convinced her everything was ok.

It's late. I need to turn in, but this saloon bed feels so alien. Of course, even if my family's home weren't burnt to the ground, I doubt I'd feel any better in my own bed.

Tomorrow's another day…


	4. August 5, 1877

August 5, 1877:

Some half-crazed courier just woke me up with his incessant knocking upon the door to my hotel room. He delivered a telegram and swiftly departed without compensation—and before I could shout my displeasure at having been awoken before dawn.

But when I read the telegram, I understood why. I'll keep it attached to the bottom of this entry…I also think I'll be visiting the barkeep…

I went back to Ivor's grave with the shovel I borrowed from the innkeeper. I found it rather odd, that transaction. He asked no questions as to why a well-dressed fellow would be in need of a shovel at the witching hour…almost as though it were a common affair. However, I had very little time to wonder about that.

The cemetery was quiet, but not the quiet one would expect from the resting dead. The silence weighed heavily on my soul, and the air was so dense I found it difficult to breathe. I would have blamed it on the Arkansas heat if not for two things: it was three in the morning, and this…feeling was not present before I crossed into the graveyard. I put it all behind me as I walked to Ivor's resting place.

A voice in the dark caught me by surprise. "Took you long enough, didn't it?" it asked as the Drifter stepped out into the moonlight, "I was beginnin' to wonder if I'd chosen the right man for the job."

I had been so startled that I hadn't realized I was poised to attack. I was holding the shovel over my head like a savage ready to strike down the White Man. The Drifter didn't even flinch as he stood there with his hands deep in his pockets and a wheat stalk hangin' off his lip like a forgotten cigarette. It was almost like he didn't notice.

I carefully lowered the shovel. "Job?" I echoed, clearing my throat shakily, "You lured me out here with a false promise to restore my brother just to offer me a job?"

"I hardly needed to _lure_ you out here for _that_ ," the Drifter answered, taking care to keep the brim of his hat down over his face, "and I never make promises I don't intend to keep. Start diggin.'"

He leaned against the old oak tree and nodded towards Ivor's grave. I figured he wasn't gonna be helping me. Maybe I should have just gone back to the inn and forgotten about this fool's venture, but something in my soul drove me to see it to the end. So I dug, half expecting one of Ivor's pranks and half believing in the queer drifter's promise. After about ten, maybe fifteen minutes—time felt as strange as my situation—I hit something solid. I tapped the pine box with the spade, and to my astonishment and horror, something tapped back!

"Impossible…" I whispered, frozen in place.

"Not really," the Drifter startled me once more, suddenly standing opposite of me in the hole, "but I'd suggest you get him outta there and fed before somethin'…unfortunate happens."

I had no desire for him to explain that. Using a bit of rope and the great oak, I hauled Ivor's casket out of the grave and pried it open with the shovel. The lid shattered into thousands of little splinters as though blown up with dynamite. Ivor sat up screaming—no, roaring—and clawing viciously at his chest. I tried to step away to give him some space…or maybe I was trying to run away, I can't rightly recall. Either way, the Drifter pushed me back.

"He's fightin' the Manitou for control," he explained as he handed me a slab of raw cow meat, "you'll have to guide him back with your voice…and feed him this; it'll clear his head."

"You are out of your ever-lovin' mind!" I shouted, "Manitou? Raw meat? What the hell did you do to him?"

"I fulfilled a promise, but it'll all be wasted effort if ya don't do what I tell ya!"

The sudden Malice in his voice was palpable as he shoved me towards Ivor once more.

Ivor's screaming had ceased, replaced with slow deep growls that sounded more like a string of death rattles than anything else. His head swayed from side to side; he was taking in his surroundings. Cataracts clouded his eyes making him look like death itself—which I suppose makes since considering he'd been dead two days now. I approached him cautiously, holding the meat slab out to him. The growling stopped instantly, and his gaze shot towards me. I froze in my tracks fearing that my brother was about to attack me…however, all he did was sniff the air. The meat! He smelled the meat! He didn't even notice me, I think. I inched closer, Ivor snarled a little, I stopped, he sniffed, and we started over. This cycle continued until I was close enough to Ivor that he could take the steak from me. He tore into that cow without hesitation, and after a few bites, the color returned to his eyes. Halfway through his feast, Ivor stopped and looked around himself in what I can only describe as bewilderment.

He looked up at me like he just broke Mother's best dishes. "Ebon?" he questioned, his teeth still deep in the raw cow, "What the hell am I doin' in a monkey suite in a coffin eatin' bloodied steak?"

I probably would have laughed at the sight had I not been so amazed. I looked up at the drifter with a determined glare.

"I rekon," I said as I rose to my feet, "It's high time you tell me just who the hell you are and what the hell you want."

The drifter smiled an unearthly smile, and I'll never forget that sinister laugh.

"I want the same thing you want; justice for your brother and others who have suffered similarly at the hands of Stone."

"Stone?"

"Yes, Stone. As payment for the restoration of your kin, you are to track that varmint down, kill him, and return his weapon to me."

"And just how am I supposed to do that?"

"You're a smart man, Mr. Ie. You'll figure it out. Some free advice though look into hirin some extra hands. Stone isn't gonna just lay down like a saloon girl."

The drifter began to leave, but I still had questions that needed answering.

"Wait!" I called out, "Who are you? Why come to me?"

"Because you were next on the list. You weren't my first choice, but you are the most recently available option. As for me…well, let's save that for another time, shall we?"

Before I could protest, the wind picked up, violent as a twister. When it was gone, so too was the drifter.

I stood staring off toward the horizon, straining my eyes for any sight of him. Then, my attention was taken by the sound of wet chewing. I turned to see that Ivor had buried his face in the bloodied steak once more. His mouth was so full his cheeks were bulging, yet he didn't seem as bothered by it as he had been earlier.

"That guy was a little queer, wasn't he, Ebon?" Ivor asked, finally looking up at me to see my odd look. "What?" he said as pieces of 'food' dribbled out the corner of his mouth, "I'm hungry…"

This was going to take some getting used to…


End file.
